Conflict of Faith
by ratsister
Summary: A young catholic assassin and a protestant reformer. What's Feliciano to do when the choice is to obey the pope or his heart; is love really a greater sin than murder? Ger/Ita, Spamano. AU, Human names. M for sex, violence, inquisition!Spain more inside
1. Chapter 1

_Hello~ This is Conflict of Faith, a reformation era gerita fic. Since the plot came to me in a dream back in Novemeber I haven't been able to get it out of my mind!  
_

_Note to readers of my prohibtion era fic, 'It's Just Business' is at the bottom - where you can find a link to read an excerpt of chapter 20 which I'm working on updating now. (So sorry for the LONG delay on an update - I'm working really hard to update it pronto! ~and then all my others now that school is out) Much more in the ending A/N but enough of that here, this is Conflict of Faith, lets go back to the 1520s, shall we?  
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_Summary: _

_A young assassin on his first mission from the church, sent to quietly dispatch of an active printer and his associates in the recent protestant uprising in Germany. He certainly never expected to feel anything but contempt for the other man, but when attraction is sparked his plans become complicated. What's Feliciano to do when the choice is to obey the pope or his heart; and is love really a greater sin than murder? _

_Main pairings: Ger/Ita, Spamano, Side: Pru/Hun/Aus, perhaps some PruLich, and Fr -Uk tensions._

_Rated M for sex and violence and Inquisition!Spain. Specific torture warning in upcoming chapters. I will warn again about this before it happens._

_Let it be noted - I don't own hetalia or the characters, nor do I endorse either catholicism or protestantism over the other. I am simply intrigued by the time period. Personally, I don't know why the Reformation isn't to GerIta what the Cold War is to RusAme. Well, anyway let us depart to the 16__th__ century without further ado…_

* * *

_**The Holy See, Rome, The fifteenth of April, Anno Domini 1524**_

_**Mid day**_

The heavy wooden doors closing behind him, Feliciano at once set off down the wide corridor of the seminary. The hall was silent but for the purposeful footfalls of his soft boots on the marble floor and the rustle of his simple black robes as he strode from the cardinal's office. Soon these garments, trappings of his position as a student of the seminary, would be replaced as he left on his newly given assignment.

The cardinal's words echoed in the young Italian's mind as he rounded a corner, ascending the staircase that led toward the dormitory and quarters he called his own.

He was to forgo his studies and leave the intent to become a priest behind. Instead, his superior had insisted Feliciano would serve God and the Holy See another way.

Instead of a priest, he would be a knight; Cavaliere was his new title. Though he would not go to Malta to fight pirates; nor would he go to Jerusalem to protect the Holy Land, and indeed he would not be joining any particular order, but acting alone.

All alone; he was to be a singular soldier of God.

Feliciano's thoughts weighed heavily as he entered his room. Glad his fellows were otherwise disposed in their studies and prayers, he immediately went to the writing desk which stood at the window.

"Veh." The sigh left his lips as he selected a piece of paper and dipped his quill in the inkwell.

Feliciano paused, pen lingering in the ink. Why was he sorrowful? His purpose was not for him to decide, but for the holy father; if the cardinal told him the way to serve God was in this fashion, then he shouldn't be feeling hesitant, but instead embrace his role, and perform it well.

Heresy was intolerable; it was a disease spreading throughout the Holy Roman Empire, and he had been selected to do his part in curing the ills of Protestantism.

The assignment had been set; he should not fear. To fear was to question God, and therefore a sin.

_But was not murder also a sin? Had Christ not said to love thy enemy as thy neighbor, thy neighbor as thyself?_

Shaking doubt from his mind, Feliciano crossed himself quickly and brought the pen from the ink, tapping the edge of his quill against the glass inkwell twice as he reminded himself from whom his assignment had come.

He had been told by the cardinal, the cardinal by his holiness Clement the seventh. The pope was infallible, therefore his assignment was the will of God, and he would neither fail nor fear.

Certainly, he dare not doubt.

To doubt the pope was to doubt the Lord, and that would make him no more than a heretic himself.

His words but a whisper, "Saint Michael the Archangel," Feliciano began casting a prayer for strength, courage and protection, "defend me in battle. Be my protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil."

For, surely doubt and fear were only the work of Satan, seeking to protect the enemies of the church. "May God rebuke him, I humbly pray; and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host - by the divine power of God - cast into hell, Satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls."

Sighing again, Feliciano brushed mahogany hair back from his face, and turned his mind to the work ahead. He must first gain the trust of the men he was to infiltrate. He should also write his brother on the isle of Sicily; Romano would want to know of his change in vocation.

Try as he might to block it, and determined as he was to trust in the will of the lord, the sins he was now set to willingly commit did weigh heavy on his heart.

Putting the quill at last to parchment, Feliciano breathed, "Che Dio mi perdoni." As he began to write.

_Herr Ludwig Beilschmidt,_

_Greetings to thee and thine. I beg thee forgive this unsolicited request. Though never before hath we met, Thine name is familiar and I write to thee now in utmost urgent secrecy..._

* * *

_**2 months later,**_

_**Stuttgart, Baden-Württemberg, Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, The third of June, Anno Domini 1524 **_

_**Early evening.**_

Clutching the latest of correspondences with the man alleging to be an ally, indeed a most unexpected ally, Ludwig made haste toward home from whence he had met the conveyer of said letter outside the city in the nearby forest.

Slowing his mount to a canter, the tall blonde brushed a hand through his hair, smoothing the errant strands from his face. The top buttons of his doublet undone to reveal the shirt beneath, Ludwig slipped the letter between the layers before patting the neck of his black mare. "Danke, Hedda." He spoke absent-minded, his thoughts still on the words he had read but a moment ago. Slipping his horse a sliver of the apple he had taken for the ride, he dismounted. Pace quick along the cobbled street, he turned toward the two-story timber framed building that was his shop and living space.

Unlatching the gate which opened to the small yard and garden behind his home, Ludwig was instantly greeted by a large black and brown dog. A smile lighting his previously serious expression, he bent to scratch the hound behind his ears. "Guten Abend, Hans"

The dog bounded happily beside his master as Ludwig led Hedda toward her stall.

The Italian's words ran through the German's mind as he gathered water and tended to his horse. The information he'd already given had proved to be helpful and now he promised further knowledge of plots against he and his associates. What was more, if this Feliciano Vargas indeed spoke true, then the sanctuary for which he now asked was Ludwig's christian duty to provide.

But _was_ it true? This was the question to which his thoughts continually returned.

Still seeking the answer to this question, Ludwig entered his workshop, crossed the wooden flooring, passed the neatly stacked parchment, the pots of ink, and all the various items typical of a printer's shop. Barely registering his surroundings, Ludwig finished unbuttoning his doublet and upon removing it, draped it across the large wooden press in the center of the room.

The letter again in hand, he stopped and sat at the base of the staircase which led upstairs to his living quarters.

Trying to divine the nature of the man whose hand had written the words he had now read over and again, Ludwig inspected the open, swirling script, the way the words seemed to scrawl toward the end of the letter suggested the writer was in haste and perhaps was indeed in danger of discovery.

The words chosen were also deserving of attention. Polite, and well-educated, as befit the description of a theologian and scholar as Feliciano claimed to be. A seminarian who had begun to doubt the church.

Yes, it did_ seem _as though the letter writer was truthful and if found out, in grave danger.

Ludwig read over the words again as Hans curled at his feet.

_Herr Ludwig Beilschmidt, _

_I pray thou art well,_

_In truth, I fear my own fate to be not so fortunate. In Rome I hear many things of which I cannot write. Even now, names like thine own are being gathered and plots devised. Already my pen hath done enough to end my life if this letter reaches any hands but thine. I humbly beg that I be able to come to you and join in thy cause. I fear Information is my only payment for thy hospitality, but I beseech thee, for without it, I doubt I will live to write another letter. I am grateful for our correspondence these past months; I feel I hath found in thee a kindred soul. I will await thy decision whatsoever it be._

_Feliciano Vargas_

Looking up from the letter, Ludwig turned his gaze toward the press, and the printed papers stacked there-upon, each word upon the parchment an individual nail in his coffin were he to be brought before the papal courts. It was only the popularity of protestant thought and learned proponents such as Luther and Benz which made the area a relatively safe one for him.

If Feliciano's words were true, it was certainly his misfortune to live in the heart of the church itself.

_If_ the Italian's words were true, he did indeed have cause to fear for his life.

Jaw set tight in decision, Ludwig clenched the letter once more in his hand. He would believe him; he would welcome this Feliciano to his home. Truly, he did want to believe the letter writer who had appeared in his life mere months ago was trustworthy; of course, Ludwig was of a skeptical mind, and knew the man could be a foe as easily as a friend.

Standing from the step as the last light of day slipped beyond the horizon, the printer turned to climb the staircase. Hans padding along behind him, Ludwig entered his living quarters and made immediately for pen and paper.

Though an ambush or other trap was likely, he could not take the chance that Feliciano was telling the truth, that he needed a place to go and wanted to join their work. If that was the case and Ludwig did not help him, whatever then befell the other man would be the fault of his own hesitation.

Dipping his pen instantly in ink, Ludwig stood over the table in the center of the room as he began to formulate his answer. He would invite Feliciano Vargas, yes, but he would choose the meeting place, he would arrive early and he would take all precaution necessary.

* * *

_**17 days later...**_

_**Outside the village of Weil der Stadt, edge of the Black Forest, nearly a day's ride from Stuttgardt. The twentieth of June, Anno Domini 1524**_

_**After Nightfall.**_

Ludwig was increasingly thankful for Hedda's black coloring, and his own dark garments as he rode into the forest. Were this an ambush, as he half expected it to be, the tall blonde could simply pull the hood of his cloak further over his head and disappear into the woods.

Each letter had been addressed to him, and in the last, barely a note, the letter writer had said it was to him and him alone that he would reveal himself. Ludwig did try to trust, but that the messages promising the revelation of vatican plots against his and other protestant groups had reached him at all, having come from the heart of Rome itself, having had to pass under the all seeing eyes of the papacy, made the validity of the letter highly dubious.

He would soon know, if it were one man alone who had traveled far in great danger, or if an ambush awaited him. He would wait, watch, and see who came his way.

As the German noticed the light of a lantern in the clearing ahead flickering through the dark shapes of great trees, he pulled the hood low to cover his features and with the barest of whispers to his mount, Ludwig slowed and drew near. If there was an ambush he would turn and fade into the dark.

As Ludwig watched from the shadows, Feliciano shifted in his saddle. The deep oppressive woods shut out the light of the moon above, and was as a blanket smothering all light save his single lantern which he now held out over his mare's head. The light shown forward illuminating the clearing, still, the ghostly birch and wide dark oak blocked out his vision of what lurked in the shadows ahead.

"Veh... don't worry Libra," The petite Italian leaned down to whisper an assurance to both his mare and admittedly, himself.

Trying to calm his nerves, the slender brunette adjusted the red cloak, which he had turned inside out, hiding the symbol of the vatican once he had left the safety of the Papal States to travel alone north through Bavaria into the Kingdom of Germany. Though he was now in the heart of the Holy Roman Empire, the young assassin thought to himself, squinting in the darkness surrounding him that his present location was no more Holy than it was Roman.

Just as Feliciano was beginning to doubt that his letters had been enough to convince his target to trust him and wondering if he could make it back out of the ominous forest before the temptation to sleep overcame him, the Italian swiveled in his saddle at the whisper of movement. Turning, he faced the dark clad rider now emerging from the shadows.

The taller man did not dismount, but pulled on his reigns to stop beside Feliciano; the protestant kept the hood of his black cloak up as he looked the catholic over. Feliciano knew no one could suspect the location of the poison hidden beneath his shirt, against his heart. The brunette flipped back his cloak to reveal the dagger he wore on his hip.

Apparently convinced the Italian had indeed come alone and that his intentions were true, the German pulled back his hood, revealing his identity. "Herr Vargas. I am Ludwig Beilschmidt."

There was no question in the other man's statement. Ludwig turned his mount back the way he had come, calling over his shoulder for Feliciano to follow him; that he would be his house guest for the time, given to his brother's absence. The young Italian had already been told much about the brothers, and knew the elder Beilschmidt was currently occupied in the armed rebellion so called the Knight's Revolt* taking place against the Emperor and Church.

What information he had not been given had been any descriptions of the men he would be infiltrating. He had not expected the piercing blue eyes as bright as the summer sky that had looked appraisingly down at him. He had not been prepared for his mark to be so handsome.

Even as the thought entered his mind, Feliciano shook it out. He was not having those unholy thoughts! The broad shouldered man who rode ahead of him was not the source of the quickened heart that beat in his chest, those blue eyes and golden hair, the strength evident in the German's hands...no,surely it was the work of Satan, he could not have those thoughts.

Not for the blonde who rode before him; Ludwig was not only a man, but a heretic.

A heretic whose death was the young Italian's first assignment.

* * *

_End of Chapter 1._

_I hope it was as enjoyable to read as it was to write! bitte, por favore, please, review - I beseech thee humbly for thy thoughts ;)_

_Notes on the chapter:_

_German_

_Danke - Thank you_

_Guten Abend, Hans - Good Evening, Hans._

_Italian_

_Che Dio perdoni: May God forgive me_

_The animals_

_Hedda: German origin, meaning: battle, war. _

_Libra: Latin origin, meaning: the scales, equality_

_Hans: German origin, meaning: God is gracious'_

_Hans, by the way is a Hovawart. Read about them here: http:/ en. wikipedia. org/wiki/ Hovawart_

_The iconic German Shepherd will not be bred for another 300 or so years._

_Holy Roman Empire neither holy nor roman_

_When Feliciano reflects that the Holy Roman Empire is neither holy nor roman, this was inspired by the quote by Voltaire: "This agglomeration which still calls itself the Holy Roman Empire is neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire." Voltaire lived in a much later time than our boys in this story, and said this in the 18th century; however, it was so fitting a thought for Feliciano to have so I just popped it in there._

_Another note about the HRE:__ The name "Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation" came into use officially after the diet of Cologne, 1512. _

_As Ludwig would have said it: __Heiliges Römisches Reich Deutscher Nation _

_As Feliciano would have said it:__Imperium Romanum Sacrum Nationis Germanicæ_

_Note about the ye oldy speeche:_

_I know it's old english strictly speaking, but since that is the language in which I'm writing, thats how I'm gonna proceed and attempt to have that touch of the times. The usage rules were found on alt-english-usage .org. I hope it will lend a nice touch to the story, but I will refrain from over-using it and always try to keep it realistic. _

_Note to Readers of my other fics:_

_I'll be finishing the last chapters of my mafia-talia prohibiton era fic, "It's Just Business" before I return to this, but it'll be soon. This and the RusAme sequel to 'Ivan Kupala Day" will be my projects between It's Just Business and It's Just Business 2. To my dear patient readers of IJB, you can find a sneak peak of Chapter 20 on my tumblr by following this link: http :/ ratsister. tumblr. com/ post /23532714662/ excerpt-from-its-just-business-chapter-20 (Just un-space the spaces, my lovelies) __Warning: there are spoilers for those who haven't read chapter 19 yet. _I'm working hard on updating that chapter in It's Just Business as well as all my other fic as soon as possible now that school is out and I have more time to write. Thanks for being so patient - you wonderful people!  


**_And for all you lovelies who stumble upon this and have not yet read any of my other fics, welcome and thank you so much for reading, I hope you continue to enjoy the story!_**

**'**_**See you next in chapter 2.** _


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello dear readers, it has been a month since that night in the forest, since then Feliciano has done much to gain Ludwig's trust. However, he finds his resolve wavering under thoughts which he fears would earn him a place in hell. So, without further ado – Chapter 2_

_**One Month Later...**_  
_**Stuttgart. The Thirtieth of July, Anno Domini 1524**_  
_**Near Midday**_

Alone in his workshop, the printer made organized stacks of pamphlets; his hands weary from a long morning of work, his fingertips blackened with ink. Ludwig had dismissed his apprentices early for the day, and for the moment was enjoying the silence of his work space. Only the sun's rays lit the room; the day was warm and bright. Though for how long, Ludwig was unsure.

Astronomers had predicted an eclipse today; the entire town was talking. Each eclipse brought on the same sense of doom and omens from the superstitious and fearful. But this was only of mild interest to the printer, a man of skeptical though faithful mind, Ludwig was more inclined to leave the eclipses to the astronomers than the astrologers.

He had other worries to consider.

Tomorrow he would introduce Feliciano to the other men with which he worked in the movement. Those who decimated the pamphlets he printed, smuggled correspondences to the excommunicated, and occasionally, if they were lucky, freed some poor soul from imprisonment.

The tall blonde's jaw was set, deep in thought. The Italian had indeed proved helpful. Feliciano had given invaluable information about a man in a nearby town who was to be arrested by the catholic magistrate; they'd worked fast and been able to help their fellow reformer to leave town undetected. He had also told them whose names had reached the all hearing ears of the Vatican.

One of them, of course had been Ludwig's own.

Moving the last stack of pamphlets from drying rack to table, the printer's eyes were drawn to the window. The bright summer day was indeed beginning to dim.

He had never expected to be noticed. He'd never aspired to fame...nor infamy. But his humble press had worked hard, churning out pamphlets, leaflets, and other educational materials. He'd even met the now notorious Luther once, before the Diet of Worms.

Now even his name was known in Rome; his and all those with whom he associated, all those who spread Luther's ideas and questions. Known enough, apparently, that the man who was now his houseguest had called to him for aid.

A man who had proved his character by providing the information he'd promised. Certainly Feliciano had had more than enough chances over the last month to do anything nefarious, but he had been nothing if not courteous, helpful, thankful, and friendly.

After a month of suspicion, Ludwig's guard had lowered bit by bit. If Feliciano was anything other than he seemed, he would have had ample opportunity to organize an ambush, poison him, kill him in his sleep, or any number of malicious things.

Yet he had done nothing.

Even their first night together in the forest a month ago, the exhausted Italian had indeed been alone, and had trusted Ludwig enough that he'd fallen asleep almost immediately after making camp.

A heavy sigh left the German's chest as he moved to the open front door. The streets were already filling with people standing in their doorways, out in the street, or walking toward the town square. Where was Feliciano? He'd left for a walk some time ago, but as Ludwig had still be working, he'd hardly noticed the time.

How long had he been gone?

A crease formed in his brow as worry set in. Stepping out the door, Hans instantly at his heel, Ludwig took off along the main road. Weaving around the people in the street, he searched for Feliciano.

* * *

Moments later, as the printer passed along the road and toward a covered bridge overlooking the Necker river, his would be assassin stood on the bank below.

Feliciano looked up to the sun. The shadow of the moon had already begun to blot out the light, casting the world below in an early dusk.

Having paused in his prayer, the former seminarian wiped the tears from his eyes with one hand; his thoughts betrayed him as they had done each day of the past month.

The vision of the condemned heretic again surfaced in his mind. Ludwig's smile which when it appeared, lit the room with a glow like the sun, broad shoulders and strong hands worked the press as the German often stayed up working long into the night, hair of lightest gold which fell across piercing blue eyes as Ludwig pressed words onto pages...

_No._ Feliciano closed his eyes as he faced the heavens. _These thoughts are not mine. They cannot be mine. _Feliciano repeated as he had all month, those thoughts were the work of Satan, only an attempt to sway him from his duty. No, surely they were not his threatened again behind closed eyes as Feliciano begged most fervently. _Per favore, let them not be my own._

For to have those thoughts would be a sin so great as to cost him not only his life, but his soul thereafter, the young Italian assassin steeled his guilty heart and continued where he'd stopped in his prayer. Words in the softest of whispers promised the Lord he would sin no more, a promise Feliciano was unsure he could keep.

"Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen."

Though his words resolved to sin no more, Feliciano was still plagued with guilt over the one sin of which he had been absolved before committing. The assignment to murder the printer, and if possible his associates, weighed heavily on the once scholar's conscience. Murder was still murder surely...but if it was the will of God, who was he to question? Of course with each passing moment in the German's presence, the Italian found his heart heavy with guilt and the thought of taking the other man's life became more and more abhorrent.

However, hated though his assignment was, it must be done. Eyes cast to the darkened sun above as Feliciano strengthened his will; hardened his heart.

He had been given this task by the highest authority. He must see it through.

Feliciano's heart sunk leaden to the bottom of his chest, as in the smallest, most hidden corner of his soul he longed to be stopped before the deed could be completed.

But this truth was a truth the young assassin hid even from himself. No, the sensations he felt course through his body, the emotion the other man stirred in his heart, these could not be his, not Feliciano's own, but only the machinations of Lucifer.

Not his. Never his.

Looking both right and left, the devout catholic crossed himself quickly and turned from the river.

The words promising to turn from sin and to avoid all temptation which had been so paramount in his mind, seemed to disappear in an instant. Feliciano's guilt ridden visions had become reality, for the very man whose visage had haunted his thoughts this past month was now walking toward him, the large dog bounding along beside the tall blonde.

The Italian hurried to blink the tears from his eyes before any could fall and smiled up at the approaching German. Dropping his rosary back beneath his shirt, Feliciano felt sure the necklace increased in weight; the heaviness he felt, a mere physical echo to the burden he carried in his soul. Beside the beads and golden crucifix was a long gold chain, and at the end, nestled against his heart, hung a smooth enameled cylinder containing the powdered root of hemlock.

"Feliciano..." The protestant bent his head toward his catholic companion as the sun was completely eclipsed by the moon. Ludwig drew closer to Feliciano, the blue irises of his eyes slender around dilated pupils. His face only inches from the other's.

"Thou hast been crying?"

Feliciano was certain he would die, for with each beating of his heart, it felt as though the poison meant for Ludwig shot instead through his veins. Feliciano smiled wider. "No, no, my friend, it's nothing." Taking the arm the taller man offered in friendship, Feliciano continued, an easy half-truth springing to his lips. "It's only a worry for my fratello Romano, in Sicily, owing allegiance to the Spanish crown, the Vatican, and...simply, I worry, veh...if my actions will cause him trouble."

"Ah." Ludwig nodded as together, the two men walked back the way he had come. Now nearing the covered bridge, the German looked to the Italian as the moon held steady over the sun.

"I understand."

Feliciano knew he did; he knew Ludwig was concerned for his brother in battle, and though it was true that he was concerned for Romano, it would have been a lie to say he hadn't chosen his words in careful calculation.

Standing now side by side on the bridge, the two men looked out to the black circle in the sky. Dusk seemed to have come early and cast the world in twilight. "Dost thou fear it?" The Italian motioned toward the eclipse as a bright ring of light shone from around the moon's shape.

The German laughed, and the sound brought Feliciano's heart to a cold drop in his stomach. How would he deprive the earth from that sound? It was nearly impossible to listen to Ludwig's explanation of why the eclipse meant nothing, and with each year there were advancements by learned men in the ways of the world, and it was simply a matter of science and not to be seen as in times past, a portent of doom. Though he heard the words, and made sure to appear as though in rapt attention, Feliciano's thoughts was full of his own fears.

With each smile, the image of the other man as a corpse flashed across Feliciano's mind. With each word spoken Feliciano was reminded it was his job to bring silence. And when at last, the printer rested a hand on his companion's shoulder, Feliciano's stomach turned in knots to know he must be the one to turn the warm hand cold.

Over the past month, simply reminding himself of the German's heresy had proven to lack the power to counter the physical symptoms of doubt, of hesitance, and of...an emotion he dared not even to think.

In full disagreement with Ludwig's analysis of the eclipse, Feliciano was certain it heralded doom. A doom perhaps for the world, this schism of the church as people turned against one another, but certainly, most certainly, it was a personal doom, for if he acknowledged the sin in his thoughts, it was as well as committed in his deeds.

Feliciano knew the blotted sun was a sign of his own damnation. Had he not just promised the Lord he'd keep his soul pure, his thoughts and heart away from temptation?

But his determination to carry out his orders wasn't enough to stop his body from reacting to doubt, to hesitance, and, giving in at last, the words echoed in his mind, _to lust_.

Ludwig went on as Feliciano stared, his mind a whirlwind of misery.

"...und of course, it does no good to speculate, for is it not written, "of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but the Father only?"

This man, he had to kill this man. He had only been waiting for the moment he would be able to deal the heaviest blow, and soon that time would come when he could administer the poisons to Ludwig's entire group of heretics. But how? How could he take the light from those bright blue eyes? It wasn't only the deadly sin of lust that stirred his body, but he had come to care for Ludwig on a deeper level.

"Si.." Feliciano managed to answer, his words sounding weak to his own ears. "the gospel of Mathew"

Unaware of his companion's inner torment, Ludwig looked back toward the eclipsed sun. The moon was beginning to move, and sunlight shone down upon them from a crescent of gold.

Leaving the bridge, the blonde had no cause to think the brunette's silence stood for anything but agreement, and as the two strode back along the cobblestone road, Ludwig's own thoughts strayed inward from the eclipse.

Feliciano's company the past month had been enjoyable, Ludwig's thoughts wound circles around the memories of tasting the other man's cooking, talking late at night over the press as he worked, and trading tales of eachother's childhood.

But Ludwig could lie to himself no longer. He had struggled in this way before, after all he was man, he had matured and noticed in himself certain weaknesses. The friendship that had blossomed between he and Feliciano must stay that way - a friendship. He would not give in to his quickened heart beat, nor to his rising temperature which brought a flush to his cheeks whenever the other man was near.

Though he'd felt it, a strike to the heart, the moment he'd seen even a hint of tears clinging to the slender Italian's dark lashes.

He had wanted...,

The sentence remained unfinished. He would not speak his sin, instead he could only endeavor to work harder to fight against temptation and eternal damnation. A weakness was all it was, and through hard work and prayer, he could overcome it. He had never admitted this weakness he dared not to name, and he would not admit it now.

Ludwig's feet carried him faster and faster as the smaller man beside him hurried to keep pace. Each grateful for the silence between them; each fighting their own battles, neither knowing of the other's desire, never guessing at the similarity of their distress.

Rounding the corner of the street, the two were finally within sight of Ludwig's shop and home. A third horse stood at the trough beside Hedda and Libra. A white stallion still dressed for battle as though his rider had only just dismounted.

"Gilbert!" The tall blonde called out to his brother as the other man walked around the side of the house followed by a little yellow chick. The younger brother hurried to embrace the older after many months apart, Hans bounding in circles around the two brothers, as happy as his master.

"Bruder, thou hast been busy I see!" Feliciano caught up to the two men as Gilbert waved a pamphlet, his pet fluttering to land on his armour clad shoulder. "This came to me as far away as Vien!" The albino knight laughed as he clapped his hand to the printer's back, pride in his little brother's hard work evident in his expression.

"Und who is this?" Crimson eyes met caramel for a moment before looking quickly back to his brother's blue.

"Ah," heat traveled up his neck and ears, and Ludwig knew with a twist to his gut that it colored his face. Ignoring the racing beat of his heart as he did the best he could to conceal the flush of his cheeks, the German gestured to the Italian, "Ja, Gilbert, this is Feliciano Vargas. He also protests the Church's hypocrisy, and comes from Vatican City itself to join us here."

In response to his brother's raised eyebrow, Ludwig nodded, "I trust him."

Feliciano's heart fell hard and heavy to the pit of his stomach at the other man's words. But he could show no such emotion as Ludwig continued, now introducing his brother. With a smile, the assassin greeted the knight. Intent to make a good impression, Feliciano's words were smooth, as he shook the pale man's still gloved hand. "Herr Ritter."

Gilbert's face cracked in a wide smile; boisterously, he countered Feliciano's formality with familiarity. "Nien, thou canst call me by my name, as any friend of Ludwig's is a friend of mine!"

Wrapping his arms around both his taller younger brother and the shorter Italian, Gilbert steered them into the house as the sun beamed down fully once more.

"I vant to hear all about thy life in Rome!" Gilbert's crimson eyes twinkled, "Just how mad is his holiness?" Laughing, the knight went on, never waiting for an answer as he looked now to his brother, "And Ludwig! You must tell me all of vhat has been happening since I left!" The pale man laughed again as he closed the door, and withdrew a wild rose from his breastplate. Brandishing it aloft, he spoke grandly, "Und I vill regale thee mit tales of battle und the lady who hath stolen mine heart!"

Pausing for dramatic effect, Gilbert looked to his brother leaning against his press, Ludwig's arms crossed resolutely, then to Feliciano who sat at the foot of the stair, caramel eyes seeming to rove anywhere but at the taller blonde.A knight by necessity had to be observant, and so Gilbert noticed this along with his brother's pink cheeks. However, there would be time to analyze this odd behavior later. Now, he had a story to tell.

The rose in hand, the pale man smiled ever wider. "The lady plucked this flower from her glorious hair of chestnut brown locks! She came to us on the battlefield with a request for peace, which we will honor, for a time…" The knight grinned as he continued, "oh, the formidable Báróné Elizaveta Héderváry, damn the cruel fate that she is cursed to be the betrothed of Roderich Fürst von Edelstein, that useless foppish pustule!"

"Augh," Ludwig's disapproving groan covered the sound of Feliciano's impressed gasp. "A princess, bruder, mein Gott, you _vant_to die?"

Gilbert only laughed again and gestured to his brother's shop. "This from you? Oh ja, you never take risks Ludwig! Besides, I said betrothed" The knight clarified as though it made all the difference in the world, "'still a baroness until she's married."

The printer's voice rose, as he described the clear difference in their risks, his righteous and his brother's lustful. Gilbert only laughed, and already unfastening his armour, yawned. "I'm exhausted bruder! I'm going to bed - you'll put Claus to stable for me? Danke."

Ludwig glared after his brother as Gilbert tracked muddy boots up the stairs. However, more glad the other was was alive and well, the printer grudgingly turned toward the door, to care for the knight's stallion.

But before he could make it out the side door to the yard, a small voice brought his attention back toward his home.

"Veh...Ludwig," Feliciano had joined him at the door. The Italian looked up at the German, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "where will I sleep now that your brother is home?"

Nearly choking, the blonde looked away from the brunette, and so missed the way Feliciano looked to his feet, hiding the flush that crept across his face.

"Ah, ja, I forgot..." Ludwig walked forward, taking his brother's horse by the bit. He thought about his house; the downstairs was simply the workshop, with no comfortable place to sleep, upstairs was a single room which worked as a kitchen and common area, apart from this was only two rooms - one his own, the other his brother's where Feliciano had slept this past month. "I suppose you can have the use of my bed." Removing Claus's sadle, Ludwig continued as he knelt, filling a bucket of oats. "I vill make a cot in the shop."

"No, Ludwig, that's not fair, thee wouldst be uncomfortable in thine own home!" Feliciano's hand went instantly to Ludwig's shoulder as the other man turned, blue eyes piercing into caramel before looking resolutely away.

"Let me sleep on the cot." Feliciano's hand slid from Ludwig's shoulder to his forearm as the taller man stood. "Veh...I cannot abide for thee to sleep on the floor…" The vial of poison was cold against his chest. Though Ludwig looked determinedly out the stable door, Feliciano found it impossible to look away from the taller man as he answered.

"Nein, thou art my guest, Feliciano." Ludwig's gaze traveled across the yard to the shuttered window beyond which was his room. "I suppose...my bed is large enough for two."

* * *

End of chapter 2  
I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

**Notes on Chapter 2 And a Note To Readers of My Other Stories:**

I know I said I would only return to this fic after I finished It's Just Business, but I just couldn't stay away from it! I'll be updating Potato Gnocchi now before returning to It's Just Business with chapter 21.

**Gilbert's horse: **Though it was tempting to name Gilbert's horse "Gilsteed" or some other such absurdity, I just thought perhaps it best if I didn't. XD Claus means 'Victory to the people' Casper was a second runner up for the white stallion's name.

**Diet of Worms: **A Diet is a formal assembly gathered for a purpose, such as this one , the Diet of Worms, Germany, in 1521 which ended with the Edict of Worms:

_"For this reason we forbid anyone from this time forward to dare, either by words or by deeds, to receive, defend, sustain, or favour the said Martin Luther. On the contrary, we want him to be apprehended and punished as a notorious heretic, as he deserves, to be brought personally before us, or to be securely guarded until those who have captured him inform us, where upon we will order the appropriate manner of proceeding against the said Luther. Those who will help in his capture will be rewarded generously for their good work."_

**Neckar River: **This river is a tributary of the Rhine which passes through Stuttgart as well as many other towns and cities.

**Knights Revolt: **Ok, I fudged time a little on this one in order for it to work with the story; in reality, the Knight's revolt occured in 1522 and was a revolt by a number of Protestant and humanist German knights led by Franz von Sickingen, against the Roman Catholic Church and the Holy Roman Emperor. The revolt was short-lived but would inspire the bloody German Peasants' War of 1524-26, which works for my timeline but not for exactly what I want to occur. So...pretend it's the Knight's Revolt of _1524._

**Feliciano's prayer **which ends in "I_deo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen." _is part of the act of contrition. The entire prayer is as follows:

_Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia tua, de cetero me non peccatorum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen._

The English version is:

_O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen._

The passage from the bible Ludwig quoted was Mathew 24:36.

The eclipse did actually happen on this date; I'm not entirely sure on where it was visable, but it was a total solar eclipse.

**Titles of class and occupation**

Feliciano calls Gilbert "Herr Ritter" which means "sir knight" which would be the formal way to address him. In the time this story takes place knowing how to address others based on class and title is fairly important, and so, if you'd be interested, here are the titles of each of the characters in 'Conflict of Faith' Including some you haven't yet met. A title shows the class as well as the occupation of the person holding said title, as well as a wee glimpse into the major players of the story yet to come:

**C****avaliere**** Feliciano Vargas of the Holy See**. (though he is only known as Feliciano Vargas to Ludwig and all other's aside from the Church and the men who gave him his assignment and official title.)

**Herr Ludwig Beilschmidt**, land owning merchant, printer and bookbinder.

**Herr Ritter Gilbert Beilschmidt**, Free Imperial Knight of the Holy Roman Empire

**Signori Romano Vargas**of Palermo - Landed Sicilian Nobilty

**Inquisitor Generalis ****Bishop Antonio Fernandez Carriedo **of the Holy Tribunal of the Inquisition in Palermo, Sicily

**Lord François Bonnefoi **de la Tour, Vicomte de Turenne, Baron de Montgascon, d'Oliergues, de le Croc, de Boujols, & de Fay - King François I's ears and eyes.

**Lord Arthur Kirkland**, third Earl of Derby, 11th Baron Strange - King Henry the VIII's eyes and ears.

**Báróné Elizaveta Héderváry **of Budapest (at this time conquered and burned by the Ottoman empire, and so landless and living with her betrothed)

**Roderich Fürst**** von**** Edelstein und zu Vien**, a staunch catholic prince of Vienna (Vien), (like the hapsburgs of his time)

(Arthur's and François' titles have been lifted directly from real historical personages, Lord Edward Stanley, 3rd Earl of Derby, 11th Baron of Strange, Francois II de la Tour, Vicomte de Turenne, Baron de Montgascon, d'Oliergues, de le Croc, de Boujols, & de Fay)

(Antonio's title is that of the Inguisitor General - and I've placed him in Palermo, where there was a tribunal of the Inquisition since 1513.)

Ok, well, lets see how that first night goes ~ shall we? We'll check in with our conflicted men in the next chapter. See you again in Chapter 3!

I beseech thee, kind readers, for thy thoughts! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello my dear readers! Thank you for your patience with all my fics! I tried to update as many as I could by Christmas, but as you can see, I've managed to do most, but not all. I'm still working on them and will post them asap. _

_I had promised to give you some Spamano in this, but just had to cut the chapter short to update by christmas, you can expect another short chapter to round out what would have been a long chapter 3. After this I'm giving IJB my primary focus, but once chapter 21 if out, I'll return and promise some scintilating spamano in what will be chapter 4!_

_I give you, chapter 3 of Conflict of Faith, wherein Feliciano and Ludwig continue their internal battles unaware of the other's struggle (poor babies) and Feliciano is faced with a chance to carry out his deed. What will he do?_

_A little explanation of the clothing I mention in this chapter:_

_trunk hose: short little mid thigh length fluffy things. ^_^ I just had to put Feli in them, plus according ot my book on fashion through the ages these were much more popular in Italy at this time than in Germany, where they prefered tighter fitting, longer knee-length hose with lower stocking below. _

_On with the chapter! And Merry whatever you're celebrating, and if not celebrating a thing, then happy day anyway! (I was gonna list them all but honestly, as I write this I'm behind schedule for working out and I have to do that before I get going on Potato Gnocchi (which I should have finished yesterday...yeesh)_

_My present to you, my beloved readers, chapter 3!_

* * *

_**Stuttgart. The first of August, Anno Domini 1524 Sometime between midnight and dawn**_

_Dio__mi aiuti! _The prayer went through Feliciano's mind as he quickly turned his back to his bedmate, eyes shut tight, he hoped against hope he hadn't woken the other man. This night was proving to be nearly impossible. Each time he'd fallen asleep, he'd woken some time later, finding his hand had lingered somewhere it didn't belong or that he was pressed cozily against the other man's body.

Horrified and now sure he'd have no sleep at all, Feliciano had rolled away as far as possible toward the edge of the bed. Praying the other man hadn't been woken by his closeness, he closed his hand around the cool metal vial hanging from his neck, an inescapable reminder of his God-given purpose.

The Italian assassin focused on the cool metal as it warmed in his grip; focused on the metal and not how warm, how right and perfect it had felt to rest so close to Ludwig's chest.

He focused on the vial and what it held inside. Heart dropping as his body went cold, Feliciano opened his eyes. What it held inside was a job he had to do. He could spare no room for reluctance or affection. These feelings, he told himself again and again, were a temptation, sent by Lucifer to deter him from God's work.

His leaden heart pounded, seemingly in defiance, it cried with each beat that what it felt was his own. Resolutely, Feliciano ignored his racing heart and the turmoil it coursed through his body; he prayed silently as he closed his eyes once more. He prayed for strength.

Afraid to look, he was unaware of the wide blue eyes, which stared resolutely in the other direction or the lips that moved silently in nearly identical prayer.

* * *

The two men averted their gaze from one another throughout the day; at breakfast, while Ludwig's older brother continued to sing the praises of his would-be lady love, and through the day to day goings on in the printer's shop to which Feliciano had become so accustomed. Each time Feliciano caught Ludwig's sky blue eyes, his heart would race as it had the night before, his thoughts driven to sin even as he fought against them.

Each time Feliciano looked his way, to ask a question or to offer help, Ludwig felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and with difficulty, he turned back to the task at hand. When there was nothing demanding his attention, Ludwig invented something to do or began cleaning the nonexistent ink from an already clean plate, anything at all to break the gaze, though Feliciano's warm caramel brown eyes stayed with him in his mind, proving inescapable in their temptation.

* * *

At last evening descended, Ludwig's few apprentices stayed after the shop closed, greeting the men who now came singly or in small pairs. The reformers came in all stripes, professors speaking with scholars, mostly other educated merchant class citizens like Ludwig himself, and even a few local priests who followed the now infamous Luther in questioning the church.

"They're calling us Lutherans, you know." One man pointed out to another as they crossed the threshold.

His companion replied, removing a traveling cloak, "Natürlich, heretics as ve are." The two men chuckled a bit as they entered in good spirits to join their fellows.

The group gathered in the small living space above the workshop. Feliciano stood against a long side table flush with the wall. A carved cross of oak hung behind him against the bright white wall. Sure his grip would break through the wood of the table as his fingernails dug into the wood behind him, the Italian tried with all his might to calm his nerves.

The men had gathered. The time was here. Transfixed, his eyes found the pitcher of ale sitting out ready for all to drink...for the condemned heratics to drink...for Ludwig to drink.

Teeth sinking into his lower lip, Feliciano drove the impure affection from his mind, pushed the pain and reluctance in his heart away. There was no way to shirk his duty. To disobey his orders was to accept damnation.

He had to find a way to get to the ale without anyone seeing him.

* * *

Accepting a rolled manuscript and pouch of coins with a nod, the printer welcomed his guests into his home. Gathered now above his workshop, the men began to make themselves comfortable.

Ludwig sat the manuscript to be printed aside as he joined a conversation already beginning between his guests. As one man spoke of the continued issue of indulgences, another the very idea a man could absolve someone of their sins, and at that, for a price, Ludwig spoke up stepping fully into the room,"the problem stems from the mistaken belief in the infallability of the papacy; only God is infallable!"

Sure marks from his fingernails were now maring the oak table behind him, Feliciano's eyes were drawn immediatly toward Ludwig's face as he spoke.

The printer reached for the leather bound book on a side table, holding it up, his index finger to the cover, Ludwig went on, "No where in here does it say one can simply buy his way to heaven!"

Amidst sounds of agreement from his fellows, the tall blonde placed the bible back on the table; published only 2 years ago in German, Ludwig had been one of the first to get the newly translated text from the Wittenburg press and had begun working with them to print more for the southern Germans from his own press since then.

"True enough bruder," Gilbert entered from the kitchen and clapped his brother on the back. "The people just need to hear, und thou wilt spread the knowledge, I have no doubt."

Flopping down beside the pitcher of ale as he filled a stein for himself, the pale knight grinned. "So, news! I have long been away!"

Feliciano watched as the group of men began to talk and share what had transpired in the knight's absence, some deeds Feliciano recognized as his own planted contributions, others he was hearing about for the first time. However, it was not only the words the men spoke, but simply how they said them, with such surity in their position. The certainty of heratics was not the only thing to strike an odd cord with the devout catholic, but their appearance. Feliciano felt his discord with the others in the room keenly. Each German was dressed so very much the same, and so very somberly. Wearing black, grey, or dark blue doublets and knee length hose with stockings, their unornamented white chemises showing through modest slashes. Some with hair free, some wearing the floppy velvet barett.

He felt so foreign as they spoke. Feliciano was as aware of his wide dark pink sleeves beneath the heavily slashed black doublet and his much shorter paned trunk hose as he was of the words Ludwig had just spoken.

Words he almost wished were true.

Feliciano's lonely reverie was cut short, as with a nearly inperceptable gasp, the German stepped away from his fellows and crossed the room toward his Italian houseguest.

"Humbly I applogize, Feliciano." The words rushed out, embarrasment at his oversight clear, Ludwig went on,"Introductions must be made." Bright blue eyes met caramel once before looking askance. Even as he spoke, the printer fought to control the heat spreading up his neck and threatening to cross his face.

Feliciano's grip on the table finally loosened as Ludwig led him toward the group.

Each man reached to shake the hand of their new comrade, thanking him for the invaluable information he had provided and asking him of the situation in Rome.

Though he responded by rote, his answers simplistic and polite, Feliciano's heart had once again began to thud painfully in his chest. How long could he handle the pain of this temptation? Why was it so difficult for his mind to imagine the deed completed?

The assassin had never expected a friendship with the man he was to murder. Such an affection, he could not allow himself to think once more the sinful thought he'd let in the day before. But to kill the protestant, to take this man's life, though he fought to stay strong, it was abhorant to his soul.

There it was again, the niggling doubt chewing at his resolve. _Murder. _To take a life was a sin, but...Ludwig, all these men, they were heretics...but to judge was for God alone, who was he to condemn them? But he had not, the pope had made this decision...the pope was infallable.

Though Ludwig disagreed.

This innner torment was too much. Feliciano had joined the seminary to become a priest, to give his life to God and to help people, to give aid and ease suffering, to spread the good word of the Lord; he had not studied so long to become a killer.

Now seated, Feliciano wrestled with his conscience as the others continued their conversation. What new systems of transport for published papers, what new developments in the movement, Luther's thoughts on the Knight's rebellion, that part of the conversation becoming heated quickly, and debates on the various aspects and disagreements between the many reformist schools of thought which had recently come into being.

All this mattered not a bit to Feliciano. All of it heresy. Instead it was his turning stomach and heavy heart to which the church's assasin gave attention.

Ludwig had sat beside him, crowded as they were, the other man's thigh brushed against his own. As the German talked animatedly with his fellows, the Italian felt his blood race hot though his veins.

Gesturing with both hands as he spoke of the corruption of catholic magistrates, Ludwig didn't notice Feliciano's eyes turned toward him.

The taller man's doublet was undone at the top two buttons, his low collared chemise showing at the top, sleeves still rolled up from a day of hard work. Feliciano's heart sped and then dropped as a vision of Ludwig's neck flashed across his mind.

_He was unbuttoning the black velvet doublet, letting loose the drawstring of the shirt beneath. His lips moving up the collar bone to kiss the strong neck, fingers running through golden locks..._

No! Feliciano shook the image from his mind. Shaken, he silently threw a prayer to the heavens; it was Lucifer, it could be no other that had put that thought in his mind!

Now cool with certainty, albeit a dark surity that he held the only end to his torment.

In the vial he wore around his neck, Feliciano held the antidote to his temptation.

View flitting back to the pitcher of ale, he noticed it was nearly empty. It was now. There was no use prolonging what must be done.

Gathering his courage, Feliciano stood suddenly, and putting on a smile, strode with feigned confidence toward Ludwig's white haired brother. Careful not to make eye contact with yet another man who'd befriended him, he took up the pitcher and filled Gilbert's stein before turning toward the group.

"Mein Herren, allow me to get more bier."

* * *

_Again, I just want it noted that I do not endorse Protestantism over Catholicism or visa versa. _

_**Dio mi aiuti: God help me**_

_**Mein Herren: My lords**_

_Bitte, Vi prego, review my darlings~ I so hunger for your thoughts! I will try very hard not to make you wait long for an update. Next semester proves to be even harder than this one, but it is my last so YAY! Well, last until I start my doctorate. So, anyway, thank you for your patience, my lovely readers! _

_Oh, and if you don't already know it - look up the song "It's a Sin" by the Pet Shop Boys. It's my current obsession when thinking up plot bits and writing this fic. (Heartbreaking a bit of course, but hopefully both our boys will live long enough to realize love is no sin)  
_

_Happiest of Holidays to you darlings!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_To all my readers who were expecting a new chapter of Potato Gnocchi today (becuase I SAID I'd be updating that story today on my tumblr) I am sooo sorry - I still have ch. 6 saved in my "to be updated" folder as just PG new chapter - and had totally forgotten I had updated it already! Sigh, therefore, Conflict of Faith is here today instead of tomorrow! I'm working on IJB, Art Also Screams, Black Forest, and Potato Gnocchi tonight - and I will be updating Trick or Treat (RusAme) tomorrow. I'm done with school (at least till I start my phd) so I have freeeee time! This means no more 6mth or more gaps between updates!_

_AGAIN, I am so sorry for the update mixup - I hope you will enjoy this chapter, as I did leave you at a wee bit of a cliffhanger last time, huh?_

_Chapter 4 Conflict of Faith_

* * *

**First of August, Anno Domini 1524, Stuttgart.**

Ludwig looked up as Feliciano passed with the empty pitcher in hand. His words faltering as the Italian passed him, he was lost. For the space of a heartbeat he'd forgotten himself, the point he'd been making a moment ago dying on his tongue as his eyes turned to follow the other man.

The slight Italian strode from the room and down the stairs, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the effect he had. Instead, Feliciano bit into his bottom lip as anxiety crashed over him; the only sound of which he was aware was his heart thundering in his ears with each step he took toward the celler.

Ludwig's eyes hadn't been the only ones to follow movement however. As Ludwig, wrent by his own thoughts, had watched Feliciano leave the room. The falter of the printer's voice and the turn of his head had been noticed by the knight, whose crimson eyes meet his brother's blue as they turned back to the room. The statement clear in Gilbert's eyes; words were un-needed.

_Bruder, what are you doing?_

Heat spread across Ludwig's face instantly at the realization of what he'd done. Hurrying over his words, his voice raising in volumne as he spoke, the blonde stood as he finished the now seemingly meaningless sentence. Freeing himself from his doublet, he moved to throw open the nearby window. "Very hot in here, ja?"

The color receded from his face as he sat back down, doublet open across his chest like a vest exposing the thinner white fabric beneath. Luckily a few others had agreed with his assesment and were making themselves more confortable. His cover appeared to have worked. Ludwig nodded as another man spoke now; he made every attempt to appear interested, but in truth his thoughts had turned inward.

_Nothing good could come of giving in to his weakness. _

Ludwig's fists clenched where they rested between his knees. Leaning forward, he felt a pang of guilt at not really catching what his fellow was now talking about – something about baptism.

While the other men spoke of souls Ludwig wrestled with the conflict within his own.

He fought for control over his emotions. He fought for control of his body, willing his heart to still, for his pulse to slow, for Feliciano's image to leave his mind and allow him peace.

Determined not to give in to the impulse he refused to name, Ludwig continued to focus on appearing collected and interested while a debate broke out between the other men. He needen't always speak up; he was no theologian, but a learned printer – surely he could cover for himself by simply appearing to listen.

And while it appeared his attempt was recieved as he intended, inside Ludwig feared a losing battle. One thought ran through his mind even as he tried to catch it, stop it, and file it away.

_I can't do this._

* * *

The same thought at that moment was echoed in the mind of the man who's presence tormented the printer so, though Ludwig could have no way of knowing it.

_I can't do this._

Feliciano stood in the cellar; a single candle cast a soft yellow sphere of light around the reluctant assassin as he shook in trepidation. Vial in hand, the long chain which stretched out from his neck, felt to the young Italian, like a noose - heavy and cold. How could he do this?

...how could he not?

Had he not just now decided this was truly the only end to his torment? The only way to drive the thoughts, planted by the Devil, from his mind?

Poised over the filled pitcher of ale which sat upon a table before him, Feliciano hesitated.

A lump rose into his throat as he unsealed the top of the vial. The contents within now only requiring the slightest touch, just a tip of his hand to free their deadly purpose.

His heart continued to beat a drum beneath his ribs, the furious demands of the organ were so loud in his ears Feliciano was sure it's rythm would give him away even so far from the men above,... men he had to send to their deaths where the Lord would judge them for their heresy.

... but blue eyes like the heavens flashed in his mind, the memory of a warm hand on his shoulder, a kind word, a shared bed, an opened door...

Ludwig had believed his deceit, had welcomed him into his home. Feliciano's guilt ridden thoughts raced in time with his ever increasing heart rate. To do this thing now...it struck him to the core.

"No," Feliciano begged his guilt to leave him. Was he not doing the work of the church? Why then did he feel this way? Gripping the pitcher in one hand, Feliciano tried again to still his mutinous heart.

Ale sloshed from the pitcher and over his shaking hand.

The poison stayed where he held it, out over the liquid...why didn't his hand move to tip it into the drink?

The answer was there; it had been there all along, pushed back behind prayers and promises, suppressed below the surface where he could pretend the thoughts were not his own. There was attraction and affection, Feliciano sat the pitcher back down as the damning realization washed over him.

Affection and attraction. It was his feelings for the other man which prevented him from carrying out the job he had been sent to do. And they were his; his feelings, his thoughts, his desire – not the work of Satan; these thoughts, this way his heart lept, the reason he had gotten no sleep the previous night...

Shoulders shaking as tears clouded his vision and rolled down his cheeks, Feliciano leaned over the pitcher. The weapon he'd carried next to his heart all this time, shaking in his hand with each sob.

A sound broke through his inner despair.

A soft, thudding noise, repeating...

Footsteps!

There were footfalls coming down the stairs!

Feliciano gasped, fearful his tears had been heard. He jolted and the poison fell from the vial into the amber liquid in the pitcher.

All happening in seconds, Feliciano's heart seemed set to explode as he watched the powdered hemlock disappear into the beer. Sparing no thought to what his actions meant, not even cognitive of making the decision - he acted – his body taking charge as his mind failed him.

The pitcher was broken and on the floor, death concealing liquid spread out around it, before Feliciano had even realized it had been his arm that had knocked it from the table.

Heart slowing at last, cold sweat cooled fever-hot skin. Gulping in air as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, Feliciano turned, back against the table.

Relief. Cool relief flooded him. He was no murderer.

Considerations of what he'd done, what consequence his action would bring – these thoughts were far from his mind at the time. They would surely come later, but at this moment, pure relief was all Feliciano felt.

Until of course, he remembered the feet that had been descending the stairs.

"Dost thou need help-" Gilbert asked as he appeared at the base of the stairs. Candlelight turned the red eyes orange and cast a blonde glow to Ludwig's brother's pale hair. "...Ludwig vas concerned something had happened to thee... I thought maybe it was difficulty finding the beer..."

As Feliciano stared transfixed at the broken glass on the floor and the alcohol seeping into the stone, Gilbert continued, "but I see that is not the problem."

"Ah, Herr Riter, I..ah, I broke it by accident and ... that's why I..I.." The words stuck in his throat as his thoughts spun in circles. God, what could he say? His trecherous tears would surly give him away! Gilbert must think him a lunatic at least, or at worst, see through to his true purpose. Or worse yet, see into his heart and know his most sinful desires.

Oh, if he could only disappear at once, simply sink into the ground with the lost poison and never be seen from again...

"Vhy you vere late returning. Of course, you did not know vhere to find another pitcher."

Feliciano simply stared and nodded his head. Had Heaven smiled on him? Un-deserving of a miracle as he was, had he somehow not been found out? Sidestepping the mess on the floor, the German opened a cabinet to produce a new pitcher, this one of ceramic and metal and began to fill it up. When that one was full, it was handed to Feliciano who watched as Gilbert filled another.

It seemed the knight wasn't going to mention his tears or ask why the pitcher was broken. Gratitude welled up in his chest; gratitude and guilt.

"Mi dispiace..." Feliciano's appology was for so much more than the other man would know, spoken first under his breath, the Italian then spoke up in the German's language. "Es tut mir Lied, Herr Riter."

The knight broke out in laughter as his little bird fluttered down the stairwell to alit on his shoulder. "kein Problem," Gilbert looked over his bird-free shoulder as they climbed the stairs together. "Und did I not say to call me by name? A friend of my bruder ist a friend of mine."

Was it his imagination or had the crimson-eyed man just winked at him?

* * *

**Later, in the wee hours of the morning of the 2nd of August, 1524.**

The moonlight filtered in through the slats in the still shuttered window. Feliciano hadn't wanted to wake his bedmate and so had crept silently from the bed to the small desk at the window.

Once again he had been unable to sleep.

His blood still pulsed through his veins in a most dangerous rythm. A sigh passed Feliciano's lips as he gazed at the figure sleeping, wrapped in the sheet, one muscular arm up and overhead. Hair a mess, lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed deep and slow, chest rising and falling...

Feliciano tore his eyes from Ludwig's sleeping form and looking down, stared at the inkwell and quill on the desk. Haunted still by what he desired to do, the longing to touch the other man burned feverishly in his very core, his heart both dropped with the cold certainty that his thoughts damned him for all eternity and rose with a bright force to be heard, to be satisfied.

He still felt the other's touch on his side from when Ludwig had turned in his sleep and pulled him close. Feliciano looked back up and toward the other man. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep as close to Ludwig as he could, to be wrapped beneath that arm that had pulled him close in sleep and that now rested tantalizingly upon Ludwig's pillow.

But those consequences which had been so far from hs thoughts had come back to him now, serious as death, for death they meant.

Feliciano had been pulled from seminary, he had been made an assasin. He had been given this assignment. He had failed. What would happen if he didn't follow through with his supposedly god-given purpose? And if he did – if he did find a way to carry out his misson and stop those lungs from breathing, stopp that heart from beating...

Of course he still had the knife with which he had traveled...but the very thought of using it brought him nearly to panic.

With a whisper, barely louder than Ludwig's slumbering breaths, Feliciano cast his hope to a higher power, "Dio, che cosa devo fare?"

A minute passed that felt like an eternity of silence with only the sounds of sleep permeating the room so filled with unattainable need and unanswered prayers.

It was when in despair, Feliciano sighed again and folding his arms, dropped his head to the desk, that the sign appeared.

The quill, disturbed by his movements or perhaps by the hand of divinity, rolled to brush against his arm.

Sitting up again, Feliciano looked through watery eyes at the feather.

Of course, oh of course. He couldn't say directly what the trouble was, but surely he could ask his brother to pray for him, tell him simply that he was in crisis. Maybe all Romano would have to say would be 'to shut up and stop complaining' but all the same, Feliciano was struck by a need to reach out to someone; there was no one else but his brother who he could speak to about this.

Of course it would take time for the letter to reach him, and more time for his response to find him here so far away, but in the meantime Feliciano would only be able to pray, to try to control his sinful thoughts, and to keep asking for some divine guidance.

He dipped the quill in ink and set it to the parchment. Careful not to divulge too much about what he was doing or what his problem was, Feliciano paused several times to think about his choice of words before he sat the quill back in the ink and looked over the finished letter.

_Caro Romano,_

_In my last letter I said I would be away for some time. Undoubtedly it is a surprise to hear from me. But I confess a trouble for which no amount of study nor prayer has brought me ease. When in the seminary I so cherished our correspondence and hope thou can either offer me the advice of one from the outside of the problem which plagues me so, or if not, that thou pray for me and that thy prayers can reach the ear of the Lord that I might be granted the wisdom to know what must be done and the strength to do it._

_When one hath a purpose, how doth one discern what it is? Is it the heart or the head to which we should listen for the voice of God? I find myself for the first time in my life without certainty._

_Tuo fratello,_

_Feliciano_

* * *

As the sun's weak light began to crest over the treetops surrounding Stuttgart and Feliciano, having decided he could sleep while Ludwig worked, busied himself by making breakfast for the brothers who still slept thought of Romano and wondered what he would say - he had no idea his own brother was awake as well, no stranger to troubled thoughts.

Stopping in his pacing, Romano leaned against the wall of his home. A spacious villa he'd inherited only a few years ago, warm breeze drifted in from the open window and he turned his head to look out.

What a fine mess he'd gotten into here. Romano wondered what life would be like had he stayed in Napoli…but he had inherited land here in Sicily from some long distant relative and who turned down such lucretive land? He had moved just before Feliciano decided to become a priest, Romano mused about his brother, wondering what he was doing on his mission from the church. His brother's letter months ago had been quite vague, most likely by necessity.

Looking out at the olive, lemon, and orange trees that stretched for acres he sighed. What had his recent fortune brought him but worries? Well not that it was all bad, but it was not all good either.

Romano could see where the city of Palermo was distantly from the window, but living outside the city meant a certain amount of freedom. Freedom, which were he to be honest with himself worried him somewhat. Resting his elbows on the window sill, Romano's fingers turned the gold signet ring, a symbol of his elevated status, recently granted by the Spanish viceroy.

He still wasn't sure if it granted power or confined him to a gilded cage.

He heard the other man approach by the rustle of his robes but didn't turn from the window.

This guest in his home was the reason the viceroy had granted him his new status, he knew it.

"Buenos días," The words were spoken against his neck with a purr. "Lovi"

Romano said nothing. He still wasn't quite sure how to feel about the other man or whether he should trust even himself.

On one hand there was that easy smile, and sweet disposition, particularly toward animals, and that cute way he'd practically begged him to have tomatos planted in addition to the olives and citrus he'd inherited.

And the way the his body reacted as the Spaniard reached an arm around his waist as he said again, "Lovi…"

But then there was the reason he was here, a reason none so pleasant, and a reminder that the otherwise sweet man was not one to cross. There was that look in his eye – one of certainty without doubt, one of frighteningly righteous zeal. And there was the power he held, surely he was the most powerful man on the Island – kings and princes would back down for fear of an accusation from this man whose arm held his waist, whose chin rested on his shoulder.

Turning at last, Romano smiled for a moment and then crossed his arms with a scowl. "Antonio. Dressed for the day, I see?" Hazel eyes appraised the other man in his red and white robes, the large gold crucifix dangling across his chest. "Don't you ever worry you'll get these vestments dirty?"

Romano made no effort to hide his passive aggressive feelings about what happened in what used to be his wine cellar.

"Don't worry mi amor, I only supervise and take confessions." With a smile, the innocence of which was markedly in contrast with what it was he supervised, the taller man leaned in for a quick kiss. A kiss which Romano ducked, but which nevertheless landed on his cheek.

Feeling the heat rise across his face, Romano pushed Antonio lightly.

"Well try not to be so loud damnit. The screams scare the hell out of the servants!"

He would never admit that the servants weren't the only ones who jumped at the sounds of screams coming up through the floorboards.

Antonio raised an eyebrow and recited from the Inquisitor's handbook, "Quoniam punitio non refertur primo per se in correctionem & bonum eius qui punitur, sed in bonum publicum ut alij terreantur, a malis committendis avocentur."

The words sent a chill down Romano's spine.

_punishment does not take place primarily and per se for the correction and good of the person punished, but for the public good in order that others may become terrified and weaned away from the evils they would commit_

Antonio raised a hand to brush through Romano's hair and then with another smile, light as the sun, as though he were going for a walk in a rose garden, the Inquisitor turned and descended the stairs, leaving the object of his affection alone once more with his thoughts.

Turning back to the open window Romano's fists clenched. He could never understand how Antonio could reconcile what they did together, when surely it was enough to see them both burn.

Of course, Romano thought as his gut felt heavy as lead, who was going to tell Inquisitor Generalis Bishop Antonio Fernandez Carriado of the Holy Tribunal that he was wrong about anything? Nobody, that's who. Which was why the Spaniard felt just fine showing his affection all over the estate no matter if the servants were within view. They'd say nothing if they knew what was good for them.

Romano sighed as he watched the sun rise fully, he was pretty fool-hardy himself and he wasn't about it accuse the grand inquisitor of heresy, certainly not implicating himself as well.

Of course when he had asked Antonio how their relationship wasn't a sin, the other simply replied that it was because he was an angel, and it had been the will of God that the Spanish Crown and the Holy See sent him here to set up a tribunal and that Romano had inherited land here, bringing them both into a place where they were destined to meet.

Romano turned from the window and walked down the hall toward his bedroom. The concept was all a little crazy to him; he was no angel, but if that was what Antonio had to tell himself then so be it. Better to be an angel than a demon.

Once out of his night shirt and dressed fully, Romano looked down upon the bed, still unmade from the night before. A hand rose to his cheek where Antonio's lips had been.

Heart racing, the heat burning across his face again, the Italian's brow crossed in frustration. Why must the other man be so complicated? Why did he have to be who he was?

But then again, the station and power in Antonio's hands were what kept them safe.

Suddenly from two stories below came a muffled shriek of pain and Romano picked up his boots and made for the door.

It was a nice day out for riding.

He slammed the bedroom door, stomped down the stairs, passed the servants who averted their eyes as he strode swiftly by, and then opened the front door wide only to slam it loudly behind him as he left.

* * *

While on the southern island the lord of the land rode his steed fast as he could, willing the wind to blow away the sounds of screams form his memory, far to the north in the company of the men he was supposed to kill, Feliciano instead fed them a most unpoisoned breakfast, blushing furiously when his eyes met those of sky blue.

Between the two brothers foreign men met as they passed in a hall. Each there to petition his holiness; each there on business for their monarch. The Englishman in hopes of securing approval of a divorce for his king, Henry VIII the Frenchman in hopes of convincing the pope to make a deal with France and end the current war on terms more appealing to Francis the 1st.

In Rome Lord Arthur Kirkland was led into audience with the head of the church. His assignment was to attempt to impress upon the Vatican the necessity of Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon.

In passing he smirked at the other man leaving from his own papal audience.

"Lord François Bonnefoi, what a surprise. Should you not be busy in Provence?"

Scowling from a meeting undoubtably not gone the way he had hoped, the Frenchman countered the Brit's snark as the two passed. "Et vous Lord Kirkland, pour une mission de la luxure?"

* * *

NOTES:

"Et vous Lord Kirkland, pour une mission de la luxure?" - "And you, Lord Kirkland, on a mission of lust?' - poking at Henry's desire for a divorce so he can marry Anne Boleyn.

The petitioning for divorce actually happened in 1527, but I moved it up to 1524 just because I wanted to have some FRUK tensions in the background~ lol

The war Francis speaks of is the Four Years War - at this time Spanish forces and a that of a French nobleman aligned with England had attacked the French Provence and were about to claim it for Henry.

See you again soon my darling readers! I have loads of reviews to reply to from the last time I updated my fics, (a long time ago..) and lots of fic to write, so I will see you all again soon! I hunger for your thoughts as always~ thank you for reading!


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